


Kicking Their Heels

by cottonwoolfairy



Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Mentions of blood & death but not very graphic, Swear Word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 05:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2720108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cottonwoolfairy/pseuds/cottonwoolfairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was time when Cutler and I were friends …<br/>It was for about five minutes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kicking Their Heels

_There was time when Cutler and I were friends ..._

It was for about five minutes.

They were together for seven years of course, but most of that time it was hatred more than friendship. At first Hal’s hatred of Cutler’s desperate humanity, of his squeamish refusal to embrace the gifts that Hal put in his path. Then later it was Hal’s hatred of himself that really stood between them; hatred of everything he’d inflicted on Cutler, and the sick knowledge that the barrister had died many times over now, a little more each day, because of Hal.  
Whereas for Cutler it was that deep devotion that a vampire can have for his maker, more worship really than friendship. Hal saw it in his eyes every time he tried to please Hal. The twisted adoration for his torturer. Cutler was as addicted to Hal as he was to the blood.

So no, they weren’t friends. But there was a moment when they could have been, right at the crossover, before Cutler’s humanity had completely burned out and just as Hal was starting to recover his. There was the moment, when instead of master and servant they might have been friends. If they’d sat, kicking their heels on the quayside in the Autumn sun, exchanging jokes and philosophising over a bottle of beer. Maybe Hal would have laughed at something Cutler said - a genuine laugh instead of one calculated to get him what he wanted – and Cutler would have thought “He loves me. He really does love me as much as I love him”. Maybe then they would have been friends. Maybe. For about five minutes.

“Penny for your thoughts?”  
Cutler’s voice jolted Hal sharply back to reality “Hmm?” he said, half distracted still by the play of sunlight on the bay.  
“They looked like deep thoughts. Looked like you were, uh, thinking, yeah …” the younger vampire leant down and passed a beer to Hal. The glass was cool against his fingers and he could taste the faint tang of sweat on the lip of the bottle – the fear of the humans Cutler had taken it from still hung thick in the air.  
“Thanks” he said, absently, and took a long swig. They’d come across the group of boys amusing themselves in the docks earlier. Cutler had gorged himself but Hal had felt oddly distracted and uneasy. He’d left Cutler to his bloodsport and instead found himself a nice quiet corner of the pier. The view was marvellous and the sun had been beating down strongly, so Hal had shrugged off his jacket, loosened his tie and had sat down on the very edge of the pier, his legs swinging against the pilings. He’d had trouble, these last few weeks, taking any pleasure in the hunt and the kill. They were gearing up, now the Summer was waning, for a new season of dogfights – young naïve werewolves were already being stockpiled in the cellars – but it all seemed so pointless. Not like last year, when he’d gleefully gambled away hundreds on waifs and strays and egged the beasts on to more and more murderous sprees. No, this year he felt barely stirred by the preparations, and even feeding now felt more like a labour than a joy.

He took another long draught of the beer and watched as Cutler tried to negotiate the railings and seat himself next to Hal. There was a wide spray of blood across his shirt and although he'd wiped his face, his skin was still sticky with gore. "You're such a messy eater," Hal complained as Cutler finally managed to find a comfortable spot on the planks. He'd never succeeded in conveying the need for precision and artistry to Cutler, and so the younger vampire always ended up bathing himself and his surroundings with red every time he made a kill. He stank of the blood now, the smell overwhelming the salty-cotton-candy scents of the pier. Hal felt faintly sick. He looked away and drank the stolen beer.

“I think I’ve got teenager stuck in my teeth.” Cutler whined, picking at his fangs. He swished some of the beer round his mouth and spat it out over the railings. A thin line of red spittle followed it.

Hal swung his feet and stared out at the horizon, worrying. A few months ago he would have been picking innocent bystander out of his teeth as well. Instead, he was feeling queasy at just the thought of it. He'd had dry spells before of course, but he didn't like to think about those too much. Last time he'd been practically a recluse, and hadn't been able to keep anything liquid down for decades. He'd recovered eventually of course, and a nice gorey massacre around the turn of the century had got him back in the saddle, but 30 years as a miserable hobo was no bloody fun. He grimaced and downed another swig of beer. Hopefully his recent lack of appetite wasn't a sign of things to come.

"... so I told him I couldn't possibly!" Cutler's giggle shook Hal out of his thoughts again. He turned back to the younger vampire and attempted to appear interested in whichever complicated tale of debauchery he was relating. Cutler's laugh rang out across the sands and he gestured animatedly as he spoke, a wide grin on his face. He had clearly got comfortable on the planks now, as his shoes and socks lay discarded beside them and his toes wiggled freely in the breeze.

Hal smiled and nodded along, and tried not to hear the words Cutler was saying. Perhaps if he tried really hard he could almost imagine that they were just two normal guys, relaxing on the pier, drinking beer they'd bought themselves - not stolen from teenagers whose bodies were cooling in a gutter somewhere. He nodded and smiled and leant back on his elbows in the sun and imagined he had been born in 1930 instead of 1490.

"... so I ripped it out!" Cutler finished, hooting with laughter. Hal ginned with affection at the younger man's exuberance, but almost immediately wished he hadn't. The adoration and pride rising in Cutler's eyes were just too much to bear. Hal scowled and looked away. His head ached and suddenly he felt he'd had as much unfettered Cutler as he could possibly take for one day.

Hal drained his beer, stood in one motion and snagged his jacket from the railing beside them. A seagull soared past where his legs had hung a moment ago and Hal lobbed the empty bottle at it, narrowly missing but causing a satisfying splash in the surf below.

"Get up," he growled, stalking past Cutler, "and put your fucking shoes on." he finished, striding away through the tourists on the boardwalk.

Something to eat, that's what he really needed. Something nice and plump and juicy, and everything would turn out fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Lord Hal and Cutler are of course not mine. They belong to the BBC and Toby Whithouse.


End file.
